Everything Is Memories And Distance
by Nadin4400
Summary: "Sometimes, the best thing we can do for someone we care about is walk away." A hasty decision made after the incident sent Owen and Claire's relationship into a downward spiral. Clawen. Post-movie


**Author's note** : Prompt requests: "If you really loved me there wouldn't be a choice" and "It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself".

So I had this idea (inspired by a couple of awesome songs), and then it got out of control. I sort of regret nothing! It was supposed to be shorter, but I hope you won't hold it against me that I let this story run wild.

* * *

 _I'll give you one more chance_  
 _To say we can change our old ways_  
 _And you take what you need_  
 _And you know you don't need me_  
 _'Recover' by David Hodges_

They said that every decision a person had ever made in their life had brought them to where they were now.

Claire's earliest memory was of chasing butterflies in her grandma's garden when she was 5. She remembered laughing, remembered her mother's floral dress and homemade cookies, remembered sunshine and thinking that the world was a perfect place.

This was her ground zero; every step she made from then on made her who she was. First a valedictorian in high school and a top-of-the-class student in Harvard – both in grad and post grad schools; then the first woman in Masrani Global to run a project as massive as Jurassic World. The first one to destroy it, too, but she tried to think about it as little as possible.

And if the old saying was right, it was that day 30 years ago that ultimately led her to this narrow road snaking between the tall pines dusted with snow in her search for Owen Grady. Current address – Middle of Nowhere, Oregon. Postal code - ?

Claire cranked up the heat when the windows of her car started to fog up from the inside and leaned over the steering wheel, squinting a little as though it could help her find her way around the endless forest. If her GPS was capable of expressing emotions, she was certain it would be laughing in her face right now. Frankly, she started to suspect that she was hopelessly lost about half an hour ago, thinking she might have to turn around soon lest she run out of gas and probably freeze to death.

It was getting dark now too, the shadows creeping in on her from the woods and the road ahead was illuminated only by the ghostly pale light of the headlights. All things considered, it started to look to her like a beginning of a bad horror movie.

She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel. If she hit a deer right now or swerved into a ditch, no one would ever find her, she thought darkly and exhaled slowly through her nose. It wasn't like she was doing this for fun either, Claire reminded herself, but one of them had to be a grown up about the whole situation, and seeing as how Owen wasn't likely to take up that role, that would have to be her.

A faint whiff of a chimney smoke crept into her car through the vents, and she finally let out a relieved breath, only now noticing how tense her shoulders were, how desperately she was peering out the windshield, trying to see something through a thick veil of snow. Well, she was either getting close, or her car was on fire. One way or another, this was it.

She almost missed the side road, the wheels of her car skidding on the slick asphalt when she hit the brakes too abruptly, her heart clenching momentarily. And then she was on a bumpy gravel path, following the light flickering between the trees as the low-hanging branches scraped against the doors as if trying to hold her back.

Claire parked in front of a log cabin with a slanting roof and thin curls of smoke coming out of the chimney. In the light streaming from the windows, Claire spotted a smaller shed behind the cabin and a pile of wood stacked nearly on the porch. As per usual, Owen was anything but unprepared.

She turned off the engine, engulfed immediately in the utter silence one could only find in complete wilderness, and paused for a second to remind herself to breathe before pushing the door open and climbing out into the shin-deep snow, her shoes – so comfortable for driving – proving to be entirely impractical as far as this weather was concerned. Shocker…

On the porch, she hesitated with her hand hovering a few inches from the door, suddenly not so sure she could do it, tempted to turn around and leave, the long drive be damned. Let someone else deal with it, with him. And then she knocked loudly, the echo of the sound scattering around, tangling in the treetops and dying down in the distance.

At first, it seemed like no one was at home, despite the lights and the smoke, and for a moment, Claire was overcome with relief. But then the door swung open, catching her off guard, and she took an involuntary step back when Owen's frame filled the door, his shoulders nearly brushing the doorjambs. With the light coming from behind him, his face was hidden in the shadows, and she didn't see so much as feel his eyes widen in surprise.

"Claire…" his voice was gruff and low, and oddly loud to her ears.

"Hey," she echoed as if this situation – her being on his doorstep in the middle of a fucking forest – was nothing out of the ordinary.

"What are you doing here?"

Selling the girl scout cookies, she wanted to retort.

That was one hell of a loaded question. The one she didn't have an answer to. But she regained her composure quickly, shifted from one foot to another and tipped her chin up, trying to appear taller and more confident than she was. There was a giant tub of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia waiting for her at home, and she'd be happy to share her emotional turmoil with it later, but right now she needed to finish something else.

"Proving my lawyer wrong," Claire responded. "She claimed I wouldn't be able to track you down here."

For a moment, his lips quirked into a familiar smirk. "I hope you're getting something out of it," Owen commented. "Something other than a frostbite, that is."

She dove into her bag and pulled out a manila envelope. "A divorce, I hope. Mind if I come in?"

And just like that, the atmosphere changed. His smile slipped, his featured hardening by the second, and Claire looked away, busying herself with the zipper on her bag – which was as good an excuse as any – and feeling her throat close up by the second, her body struggling not to fold in on itself.

Owen cleared his throat and stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Sure." His gaze also remained fixed on anything but her.

Claire squeezed past him into what served as a living room/dining room/kitchen, its warmth reminding her about how cold she was. Apparently. It was… cozy. Much to her surprise. The fire was blazing in the fireplace, filling the whole place with the tangy smell of the pine tar and whatever it was the camping cabins always smelled of. Freshly polished wood, maybe. It was neat, too. Lived-in.

Back in the day, Owen used to call her place 'a page from the Home Improvement catalogue'. His certainly didn't fit into that description. There was a faded rug on the floor, the cushions on the couch didn't match, and the three chairs around the table didn't either. An old-fashioned kettle was sitting on the gas stove and in the stillness of the evening, she could hear a soft rumble of the power generator outside.

"How did you…" Owen began, and she turned around to give him a proper look.

He was wearing a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up in the warmth of the house, and thick cargo pants. His hair had grown out since the last time she saw him, and he hadn't shaved in a few days, although it looked more rustic than shabby. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants and took her in as well, his inquisitive blue eyes more piercing than ever.

"Barry," Claire explained, and he nodded. "Still, you're not an easy man to find these days, Owen."

He shrugged. "Didn't know anyone was looking. I thought it was all done and over with. My attorney knows everything; you and I never had any joint accounts or property or, I don't know, cats. It seemed to be pretty straight forward."

"It is," she confirmed if a little briskly. "But you still need to sign the papers."

His lips curved into a humorless half-smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Right." He stepped toward her. "Well, let's make your visit count. We wouldn't want to have you drive all the way here for nothing, would be?"

Claire pursed her lips together and handed him the manila envelope. "There are… stickers."

Owen walked over to the kitchen table and spread the papers on it. "Stickers. Because I wouldn't find my way around without them," he muttered under his breath. He found a pen in the drawer, ignoring the one Claire offered him, and then signed all copies quickly before checking them one more time to make sure he didn't miss anything and finally gathering them into a neat pile again. The one that he stuffed back in the envelope and handed it to her. "Congratulations. As of right now, we have nothing to do with each other."

Claire paused for a moment before stuffing the papers back into her bag as she tried to ignore the fact that her body seemed to forget how to function properly. "I hope you're happy," she murmured.

A bitter laugh that escaped his lips cut right through her. "Me? I wasn't the one who drove all the way here to–" He cut off and shook his head.

She turned on her heel and headed for the door. "It was your idea, so…."

"And you supported it," he called after her.

"Your mind seemed to be made up when you suggested we shouldn't stay together." She tightened the scarf around her neck, hating her voice for breaking ever so slightly, and even more for knowing that if she didn't get out of there fast, it'd only get worse. "It didn't sound like you wanted me to disagree."

"Claire…"

She turned around, her hand already on the doorknob.

"You were unhappy," he said quietly, his expression pained.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Not because of you."

With that, she pulled the door open and stepped into the chilly air, the wind throwing snowy gusts at her.

The curtains on the front-facing windows of the cabin remained undisturbed, the rectangles of light clear and unobscured. Owen was not watching her hasty departure from inside the house, which she thought he would do, although it wasn't until Claire reached the interstate that her eyes started to burn, her vision blurring.

She wiped her cheeks angrily. This was such bullshit! He wanted an easy way out and she gave it to him. He wanted to wash their relationship down the drain – sure thing! Why would she stand in his way? But he had no right to put it on her! It was tough, Claire had to admit that much. Their personalities clashed, they fought – but who didn't? But she was not unhappy, certainly not until the day he told her that maybe they were better off on their own.

So screw him!

Claire clenched her teeth and sped up, eager to get away as far away from here as possible. Her chest tightened. It was a mistake to come here – not that she didn't know that already. She should have sent someone else to deal with it. Should have let Owen track her down, seeing as how it was his brilliant plan.

Should have never said yes in the first place.

The heater was turned up to a maximum but she couldn't stop shivering, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, her breath coming out in short gasps. God, she was such an idiot. She knew it would come do to this – it was too much. She was too much. Always had been.

A 'curve in the road' sign whipped past her in a blur, and Claire belatedly remembered to hit the brakes, but the car swerved and skidded forward on the slippery road. She gripped the steering wheel, trying to regain control of the car, but only made it worse. Everything slowed down. All of a sudden, she could see every snow flake – bright and clear – in the headlights, and dark trees towering over her. The wheels hit the shoulder of the road, jumping on the uneven ground, and then everything went black.

—

The first thing Claire noticed when she came to a while later was a throbbing pain in the back of her head and a heavy pressure on her chest from when the seatbelt dug into it, holding her in place after the car—

After the car what?

And the cold. She was so cold her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, her fingers and toes burning. In near complete silence, she could hear the snow continue to fall, the branches brushing against the rood of her car in the wind.

She opened her eyes slowly and blinked, waiting for her vision to adjust. Right before her outside the windshield were the trees – much closer than they should be, Claire noted almost absently, realizing she could see the texture of their dark barks. For a moment, she expected them to climb into the car with her.

How long had she been out?

She took a moment to assess the possible injuries, noticing that her body throbbed and ached, but nothing seemed to be broken, and then unbuckled the seatbelt, wincing when a sharp jolt of pain short up her right arm and into her shoulder. Her numb fingers fumbled in her bag sitting in the passenger seat until she found her phone. The reception was poor, only two bars out of four showing, but it was better than nothing. And she was fresh out of options.

"Owen…." She whimpered quietly when he picked up, the panic starting to set in.

"Claire? You okay?" His voice was hollow, like he was shouting from the distance.

"The car…" She stuttered through her chattering teeth.

"Where are you?" He demanded.

"I turned south-east when I left. I don't know–"

"Don't move, okay? Don't go anywhere. Stay where you are, I'll be there soon." He paused. She could hear him walk around his place, pull on his jacket, grab the keys. "Hey, you there?"

"Yes."

"Don't hang up. Talk to me. I want you to keep talking to me." She didn't say anything. "Claire?"

"Okay."

—

It was funny how the worst part of every breakup or separation wasn't that decision, per se. No, based on his personal experience, Owen could say that the worst part was the memories. The worst part was waking up in the middle of the night, sleepily reaching for the person that wasn't there anymore. The worst part was buying their favourite food out of habit and dialing their number. The worst part was remembering their scent and knowing that there would come a day when that memory would fade away, leaving nothing behind.

Not yet, however. Right now, all he had to do was close his eyes, and he'd see her smile, hear her laughter, feel her wound all around him, sweet tension and delicious weight. Owen had lost count of how many times he thought he was hearing her move around his new house even though Claire had never been there. And every time, it felt like cutting a wound that just started to heal open again.

The whole point of moving here was because this place bore no trace of her. A clean slate. A fresh start. A million other dumb reasons he kept repeating like a mantra to keep himself from going crazy. All of them erased without a trace the moment she stepped into his cabin looking exactly the way he remembered. It was like no time had passed at all. Except her gaze was guarded, her back straight as if she walked into a business meeting, and he could've sworn the temperature dropped when she entered his living room – and not because of the blizzard…

Owen feared he wouldn't be able to find the right spot in the dark, but the skid marks were still fresh on the road, only slightly peppered with the snow. He left his car on the curb, stuffed his phones into the pocket of his pants, and scurried down the slope and into the forest, the heels of his boots digging into the rotting foliage and dead grass, his eyes fixed on Claire's silver Honda in the distance.

Its hood was wrapped around two trees growing close together. How she made it past a couple of logs he had to step over Owen had no idea, but he jogged toward it as fast as he could, pushing away the branches hanging too low to duck underneath them, and then pulled the driver's door open.

"Owen."

She looked frightened. There was a cut on her forehead, the droplets of blood splattering the deflated airbag, but he couldn't help but break into a smile, albeit a weak one, too relieved for a moment to care.

"It's okay, it's fine. Everything's fine," he muttered, letting out a long breath. "Claire? Look at me." He smoothed down her hair, his palm resting briefly on her cheek as his eyes searched her face. "Are you hurt?"

"You came," she whispered.

"Of course, I did, baby. Come on, tell me – is anything broken?" He certainly didn't like a ghostly pallor of her skin, although that was to be expected. What bothered him more was that she'd been sitting in the cold for almost an hour now.

"No, I don't think… I don't think so." She shifted in her seat and grimaced. "My shoulder… might be dislocated."

"Okay, that's good," he said, mostly to himself, his mind racing. "Not that you're hurt, but that we can fix it. We'll fix it, I swear."

"Owen." Her eyes started to well up.

"It's gonna be okay." He paused, his gaze locking with hers. "I would never, ever, let anything happen to you. Never." She nodded slowly. "Let's get you out of here now."

"It's cold," Claire murmured when he reached into the car and gathered her in his arms.

"I know, baby. Just hang on there for a bit, okay?"

Her fingers closed around her jacket in a white-knuckled grip as he walked back to the road, careful not to trip on the dry branches hidden under a thin white blanket. She smelled of berries and that perfume he got for her, and it made his stomach turn, made that black hole he almost managed to patch up open in his chest once again.

"I'm fine," Claire breathed out when he settled her in the car and buckled her seatbelt.

"You will be," Owen promised.

He should have taken her to the hospital, he was thinking as he drove back to his cabin, but the roads were closed because of the storm - an announcement he caught on the radio right before she called – and now they were cut off the rest of the world until it was over. He could've tried getting past the roadblock, he mused, but she needed to get in the warmth.

His gaze darted quickly to Claire curled beside him in the passenger seat with her arms wrapped around her shoulder, her eyes staring vacantly out the window. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel as he suppressed the urge to reach over and take her hand, brush his thumb over her knuckles, along her long fingers. There was a time when doing it was as natural as breathing. These days, he wasn't even sure if it ever was real or if he simply dreamed it up.

"I can walk," Claire protested without conviction, when he parked in front of his house, hopped out and pulled her door open, all in 2 seconds flat.

"Or you could just accept my help for once," Owen pointed out, scooping her up effortlessly in his arms again.

Inside, he set her down on the couch, and then shed off his overcoat and heavy boots and threw a couple more logs into the fire to keep it going before coming back to her again, his gaze scanning her assertively. He took in the wisps of hair that escaped her ponytail, damp from the snow, deep green of her panicked eyes, her desperate attempt to have an upper hand in the situation when she just plowed through the goddamn forest on a rental car. The woman sure as hell knew how to have fun.

She was sharking visibly, but he couldn't tell if she was still cold – her blue lips sort of suggested that – or if it was the adrenaline rush. Or both. She didn't look scared anymore – not the way she did when he'd found her, but there was wariness to her, something he was not used to seeing. And he had to remind himself – again – that it was how she would look at him for the rest of her life.

"I need to see your shoulder." He said a little more briskly than he intended.

She pursed her lips together into a stubborn line. "I'm okay."

"Claire, I need to know if it's dislocated because we might need to snap it back into place, and then find a way to take you to the hospital."

"I don't need a hospital, I need a tow truck."

"Well, I've got some bad news for you - the roads are closed."

Her brows knitted together, eyes narrowing. "So if, by any chance, I need to be rushed to the ER, how would you suggest we do it?"

"They have a chopper for that sort of situations," he deadpanned. "Come on, don't be such a baby."

"Fine," she muttered through her teeth and slowly pulled off her jacket, one sleeve after another, grimacing in the process.

"And the shirt," he instructed.

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me? I'm not taking off my shirt!"

Owen rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. "Jesus Christ! We're been married for 8 months and sleeping together for 5 before that. I think I can handle seeing you in your bra without getting too excited about it."

She glared at him from under her unbelievably long eyelashes, and he glared back just for the hell of it, hoping she couldn't see that her very presence was rendering his breathing near impossible.

Claire looked away first, a burning hot knot churning in her stomach. He had a point, she had to admit that much. And she hated it when Owen had a point – it was throwing off their balance of her being the logical one and his jumping into volcanoes and things like that.

"Here, let me," he said quietly when she began to peel off her sweater and her hands got caught in the sleeves.

I can do it myself, she wanted to say. Instead, she allowed him to pull it over her head, revealing a black camisole, making her want to wrap her arms around herself. His fingers brushed against her skin ever so slightly a time or two, and she shivered involuntarily, digging her teeth into her bottom lip when a careless movement send another zap of pain through her arm.

"Sorry," Owen murmured, suddenly so close to her she could feel his breath on her skin, warm and feather-light.

And that was when she remembered… Although Claire took off her wedding ring a while ago, she was still wearing it on a gold chain around her neck. There was no way he didn't see it. She felt her cheeks heat up as she waited for Owen to throw some quip about it at her, but he never said anything.

She turned away, allowing him to prod and poke at her shoulder, moving her arm gently side to side, bending and straightening her elbow. Her gaze skimmed over the room again, noticing small details she hadn't paid attention to the first time around. Like a stack of hunting magazines on the table by the couch, a copy of Catcher In The Rye on the counter in the kitchen with a bookmark sticking from between the pages, old cuckoo clock on the wall – something she imagined came with the property, although she wouldn't have put it past him to by something like this as a joke.

The whole place looked very… Owen, which made the corners of her mouth lift a little.

"It's not dislocated," he said after a couple of minutes, moving away from her, the sound of his voice snapping Claire out of her thoughts. "You're gonna sport an impressive bruise for a couple of weeks, but it'll be fine."

She turned to him, cleared her throat. "Thank you, Dr. Grady."

His lips twitched for a moment. "Wait here a sec."

He disappeared for a few moments in his bedroom and then came back holding one of his hoodies, which he handed to Claire, explaining that it was warmer than her stuff. And definitely more comfortable. She accepted it after a short hesitation and pulled it on, instantly wrapped in his scent.

He fetched his first air kit afterwards and plopped down beside her again, his hand gently brushing her hair away from her face to examine the cut on her forehead where it met the steering wheel.

"Thank you," Claire said, noting the deeper lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth she wasn't accustomed to. "For coming to get me. Earlier. I'm sorry for… all of this."

Owen tilted her chin this way and that. "Do you feel dizzy? Or nauseous?"

Dizzy, yes. It was pretty damn hard not to feel honest to god vertigo when he was sitting this close.

"No."

"Good. No concussion." He drew back, looked down, then met her eyes again. "Let me know if it changes though." A pause. "You scared me," he admitted softly, his voice hoarse. "When you called, I thought…"

Her lips curved. "I scared you? You weren't the one whose life flashed before their eyes as they totalled a car."

Owen smirked as he dabbed her cat with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. It wasn't deep or it stopped bleeding, but he insisted on take care of it anyway.

"Well, when your wife calls you and tells you she might be dying or something–"

"Ex-wife."

He pulled his hand away and dropped his gaze and busies himself with looking for a Band-Aid. "This might take a little more than two hours to kick in."

"And I never said I was dying," she added.

"It was implied," he countered. "So yeah, it was… um, unnerving."

She caught his gaze, held it. "Thank you."

"I'd do anything for you, Claire," he said quietly, the sound of her name in his mouth making her skin prickle. Making her want to fold in on herself until everything stopped hurting.

"Yeah, I picked that up when you signed the divorce papers like you were on fire."

His face hardened and he stood up quickly. "It's what you came here for," he shrugged almost matter-of-factly, and she bristled at his tone.

"It's what you wanted," she reminded him sternly.

Owen stuffed the first air kit back into the cupboard over the sink in the kitchen. "It's better that way. You know it is."

"Yes, it is." She got up as well as walked over to the window. Outside, the night was dark and so quiet it hurt her ears. She tried to imagine him here all alone, surrounded by nothing but the silence and centuries-old trees, and couldn't. "We were fighting all the time."

"Not all the time," he called back, and when she turned around, she found him pulling out the cups from the rack, the kettle already on the stove.

"Only when we were awake," she noted dryly.

"The make-up sex was great though," he arched an eyebrow, chuckling when the traitorous color rose up her cheeks, and she tucked her hair behind her ears, her gaze skittering around the room once again before fixing on Owen who kept watching her. "It was," he insisted, and she rolled her eyes.

—

Owen gave her two pills of ibuprofen to sooth the pain in her shoulder and helped her in the shower, seeing as how she couldn't take off her clothes by herself.

"Close your eyes," she instructed.

"There's nothing I haven't seen," he remarked flatly, helping her into the cubicle and turning on the water.

She sighed.

The bruise looked bad, which, as Owen explained, was often the case with the sprains and was nothing to be worried about, but with him standing right there she didn't dare study it too closely in the mirror – which probably was a good thing. It was bad enough to know it existed.

"You need any help in there?" He asked when the cubicle filled with heavy steam, its glass walls fogging up, separating them.

Claire closed her eyes and didn't respond, allowing the hot water to beat on her skin till she couldn't bear it, her teeth biting into her lip until she could taste blood on her tongue. Until she started to feel her limbs again and the bone-deep chill began to ebb away. Until the tension left her muscles, making her wonder if she was going to thaw and get washed down the drain.

Owen had warned her not to get overheated, and after a few minutes she turned off the water and pulled the door open to find him on the other side with a towel and some of his spare clothes for her. It should've been awkward, Claire thought absent-mindedly, their history considered, but she was too tired to care, too drained to be bothered by the fact that he was seeing her naked again. Besides, she'd lie to herself if she didn't admit that his presence wasn't the only thing that was actually making sense to her right now.

Claire tried to protest when he said he'd sleep on the couch and she could take the bed, but he wouldn't have it, claiming that she was a guest – the word made her cringe inwardly – and an injured one, too. And it wasn't like he was going to sleep outside in the snow, he added, grabbing an extra pillow and a spare blanket, his gaze sliding past her as he tried not to think of how this day had gone from 'Hey, maybe Wheel of Fortune will be on TV tonight' to 'Holy shit my wife… ex-wife is sleeping in my bed'.

That was not the image he wanted to deal with, he thought as he stretched on the couch with his feet dangling over the armrest. The damned thing wasn't meant for sleeping. It was far too short and the cushions kept shifting under him, making him feel like he was on a boat, rocking on the waves. And what was he supposed to do now? His house was compromised. There was no way he'd ever not put on that shirt Claire was wearing right now and not think of her. Okay, there was no way he was ever putting on that shirt, period. Might as well burn it. As well as this whole cabin and 20 acres of the forest around it for good measure.

Jesus…

He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing all thoughts of Claire Dearing out of his mind. There was no running away from her. God knew he tried. He tried hard, failing spectacularly every time.

He should've listened to her, Owen was starting to realize now. Should've closed his eyes because yes, he had seen – and touched, and kissed – every inch of her before. He'd eaten hot fudge off her body, for crying out loud! But he'd missed her. Missed her to the point of feeling dull ache deep in his bones. The one that was not likely to go away any time soon.

Owen propped himself up on his elbow when he heard something fall in the kitchen, followed by a string of muttered curses.

"Claire?"

"Sorry," she whispered. "I just… I couldn't asleep. It hurts too bad." She paused. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." I was just picturing all the ways to get you out of your – my – clothes.

She pushed her hair back from her face. "So, um… Where do you keep the painkillers?"

"You shouldn't take anything until morning," Owen shook his head. "The dosage…" he trailed off, then lifted his blanket. "C'mere."

In the dark, he couldn't see her face properly, couldn't read her, and it was more unnerving than anything. It took him a moment to reconsider this idea, and another one – to spring into a full-blown panic mode. This was not the right thing to say, and if she decided to storm out of his house in the middle of the night—

He didn't get to finish that thought though because Claire stepped toward him, and the next thing he knew, she was slipping under the covers next to him. Owen wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer still, only barely resisting the urge to bury his face in her hair, inhale all of her at once.

The couch was too narrow for them both, and it took them a while to figure out what to do with their legs. When they finally settled, Claire let out a content sigh, sinking back against him, her breathing growing deep and steady.

"That better?" He asked quietly.

She smelled of his shampoo and everything that was Claire, and there was no fucking way he was going to be able to fall asleep tonight, or in the next decade.

"I was never unhappy with you, Owen," she said after a long moment, and he exhaled sharply.

"You weren't happy, either. You kept pushing me away."

"I didn't mean to." She whispered. "I needed you, but I also needed to handle everything myself. I didn't know how to let you in. But I didn't want it to end the way it did, either."

Owen let out a slow breath. "Sometimes, the best thing we can do for someone we care about is walk away."

"It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself," she noted.

"I've been crazy about you, Claire. Still am. Nothing changed here." And then, "You kept the ring." A statement, not a question.

She rolled around to face him, the whole length of her body pressed against his. Her hand crept up his face tentatively, her fingers pushing his hair back from his forehead, looping it around his ear. When she was this close, it was so easy to remember why he took her hand and made a leap. It was so easy to remember why it seemed like it was going to work.

"I'm sorry," she said wistfully. "I wish I knew how to be what you wanted."

Owen studied her face, feeling her rapid heartbeat against his chest. "You've always been what I wanted. The way you are."

She tugged at his curls, pulling him closer, her lips brushing against his jaw, her whole body melting into his. "You sure–" Owen started, but she rested her hand on the back if his head and silenced him with a kiss.

"Yes."

He shifted until he was on his back and Claire was sprawled over him, arms wound around him, their lips engaged in a slow, devouring kiss.

"I don't want to hurt you," he breathed out.

"You won't," she promised.

—

When Claire woke up in the morning to Owen snoring quietly into her neck, his arm wrapped tightly around her, she had three realizations at once. First, the storm was over and sun was out, and reflected on the snow, it was flooding the room with such brilliant light it almost hurt to open her eyes. Second, she was most definitely naked. Third, based on how she managed to stretch out her legs, they were no longer crammed into his couch – that was one hell of an adventure, she had to admit, but she could probably go without having another one, ever.

He shifted behind her when she stirred, burying his face into her hair, his arm flexing around her, holding her closer.

"Hey," he mouthed hoarsely, kissing her neck, then her bare shoulder.

"Hey," she looked up and glanced pointedly around the room. "When did this happen?"

"Sometime around 4 in the morning, I think." Owen stifled a yawn, brushed her hair from her face. "How you feeling?"

"Compared to last night or the past 3 months?"

"Either. Both."

"Better than I've been since…" she dropped her gaze, her fingers running lightly along his forearm. "You think the roads are open?"

Owen stilled beside her, and then pulled away and climbed out of the bed, reached for his pants draped over the back of the chair. His hair was rumpled from the sleep, there were pillow creases on his cheek, and her chest tightened at the familiar sight – the comfort of his presence so essential that even a few feet of the physical distance between them felt wrong now.

"Sure, probably." He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over his head. "Let's find out."

Claire sat up in bed, holding the sheet at her chin, slowly becoming aware of the dull throb and discomfort in her left shoulder again. "Owen, don't be like this."

He met her eyes. "Hey, it's cool. I mean… Last night was fun, all three times. But it's not like it was a big deal, right?"

On that, he walked out of the room, and Claire pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to break apart again.

Owen made coffee and by the time Claire dressed and joined him, he called the tow company to explain to them what happened and where to find the car, allowing her to deal with the rental agency herself. She wanted to wait for the tow truck at the crash site, but Owen insisted on driving her to Portland himself, and she simply didn't have it in her to argue even though being stuck with him in a closed space for nearly two hours was the last thing she needed. Or wanted. Or could handle, for that matter.

All morning, he barely said two words to her, and those that he did grace her with were dry and monosyllabic. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't come anywhere near her like it was her goddamned fault that the last night happened. Or that she had to go back. She wanted to scream at him, make him acknowledge her presence, hurt him the way he was hurting her. And even more than that, she wanted to curl into a small ball of misery and stay that way until her very soul stopped aching.

"Do you like it here?" She asked, staring sightlessly at the blur of tall trees outside the passenger window.

He didn't respond at once, but just as she started to think he was going to ignore her, he said, "Yes. It's quiet. And far away from… everything. Not an easy place to find."

"Well, you got that right," she muttered, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

He told her last night he was basically a ranger, making sure nothing happened and that no one did anything they weren't supposed to do in a national park, like set it on fire or shoot the animals, although, he added, none of this was likely to happen. The most exhibiting thing he had to deal with so far was posting warnings for the hikers about the bears in the area. She had smiled when he said that.

The emptiness of the woods was pressing down on her, making her jittery – not knowing what was hiding in there, exactly, unnerved her. After the park, she tended to avoid the crowds, always on the lookout for whatever hell might break loose, but complete isolation was of little comfort to her as well. She could see why he chose it, though. It suited Owen the way she knew it would never work out for her. Unlike her, he was in his element.

"The papers–" Owen started.

"I'll make sure your copies are mailed to you." Claire assured him flatly, really wishing she had a sense to tell him to go to hell and walk back to the city instead. God…. "I'm not sorry about last night," she said after a minute or two, surprising them both. "I'm not sorry it happened."

He glanced at her and nodded. "Noted. Is that why you couldn't get away fast enough?"

She whipped her head around. "For Christ's sake, Owen! I asked you a simple question and you turned it into something that it wasn't. Which shouldn't have come as a surprise perhaps, considering…" She let out a sharp breath and clammed her mouth shut, turning away.

He gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, his jaw set tight. "I wasn't dealing well with everything myself. It didn't feel right to keep dragging you into it as well. I really thought I was doing you a favour."

"If you really loved me there wouldn't be a choice," she said quietly. "It was the deal, no? Trying to figure it out together."

He hit the breaks, bringing the car to a sudden stop, and turned to her, his breath hitched in his throat. "I have always loved you and you know it."

Claire shook her head, looking at her hands clasped together in her lap. "Yes, I do. In fact, I have divorce papers to prove that."

With that, she unbuckled her seatbelt, pushed the door open and climbed into the chilly wind that made her shiver from head to toe despite the bright sun hanging over them. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and started down the road, her shoulders hunched forward against the cold, her head throbbing. Maybe she needed to be at the hospital, after all. Maybe she was dying. She certainly felt like she was losing her mind.

"Claire!" She heard his door open as well. "Get in the car. Please. Look…" Muttered curses. "Claire, wait. Damn it…"

He caught up with her in a few quick strides, and she edged away from him when he reached for her. "Leave me alone, Owen." She stopped then, snapping her head up to face him. "It's like you said, we have nothing to do with one another anymore."

"I thought I lost you yesterday," he said, dropping his hands to hang by his side. His cheeks were flushed, his hair rumpled with the wind. He shaved, looking more like the Owen she knew, but something was missing, or maybe the pain in his eyes was too present, almost palpable. "If something happened to you…" He ruffled his hair with his hand, glanced away and then at her again. "I keep feeling like I've been losing you over and over again, every fucking day of my life. And I don't know how to stop it. When you showed up at my door, I thought… Jesus, I don't know. I thought that maybe there still was a chance."

"I can't do it anymore," she said quietly. "Getting over you was the hardest thing I had to do in my life, and I need it to be over. I can't defend every word I say because you keep looking for hidden meanings and secret agendas and I don't know what else. I just can't…"

His shoulders slumped. He heaved a weary sigh, looking resigned and so tired Claire could feel it resonate in her own body.

"I wasn't trying to… And when I saw the ring…"

Owen scrubbed a hand down his face. Standing in the middle of the road, they must have been quite a view, he thought distractedly, his mind suddenly bank. No words, nothing he wanted to say to her - all the speeches that kept running through his head for months on end while he was trapped in his own head gone without a trace. All he could do was just look at her, at the breeze throwing wisps of hair in her face, her green eyes bright in the morning sun.

"I didn't know what to do, Owen. I… There's probably a fancy word in psychology for when you royally fuck up something and then not know how to deal with it." She paused to take a breath. "Well, I had that. And then you walked away."

Claire wiped her cheeks with frustration, furious at the tears she didn't notice were there until a gust of wind touched her face, and when Owen saw it and reached out for her, she allowed him to pull her into his embrace, burying her face in his coat that smelled of pine tar, smoke and snow, her shoulders trembling slightly.

It was too much. She felt lost and confused and scared, needing him more than ever and wanting to push him away once and for all, cut the cord holding them together, feel free again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly into her hair, somehow making it even worse.

"I needed you to be there for me but I didn't want to need you."

He pressed a long kiss to the top of her head. "Maybe it's something we have to learn."

—

She moved into a new apartment – the one not infested with memories that kept crushing her every time she stepped through the door. The one where she couldn't still see the pictures on the walls despite taking them down months ago. Okay, she didn't take them down so much as smash the frames. And then had a good cryfest amongst the shards of glass.

Not that it mattered.

A few weeks after their divorce was finalized, Masrani Global announced the reopening of the park. That evening Owen showed up at her new place – courtesy of Karen, which Claire promised to kill her for but never came around to doing – with an olive branch in the form of a bottle of tequila (the irony of which hadn't been lost on her), and stayed. Just like that. One day Claire's life was almost taking some sort of shape again, and the next her pantry was stuffed with a year's supply of chocolate chip cookies and her morning newspaper was monopolized by someone who only read the cartoon section in the back.

The good – and the scary – thing about this whose situation with Owen was that, much like before, aside from their fiasco of a marriage, it didn't take much effort. They simply slipped into the old patterns as if nothing happened after agreeing that maybe they were better off without making it official or anything. Maybe trying too hard was their mistake from the start.

She loved not being alone anymore, loved coming back home to the sound of Owen rummaging in the kitchen, pretending he could cook something aside from grilled cheese and instant noodles. She loved waking up next to him in the morning and sneaking up on him in the shower and stealing the last piece of bacon from his plate.

It wasn't a smooth sail, but they made sure to talk this time, and even though it wasn't always easy, he turned out being right – it was a matter of learning.

"You sound better," Karen noted when Claire called her a few weeks later.

"Better? What does it even mean?" She huffed, searching for her purse and finding it stuffed between the cushion pillows.

"You sound like you don't sit near the oven, psyching yourself to stick your head in it anymore."

"You don't have to be so morbid."

They chatted about the boys, and Grey's science project that Owen helped him with via Skype several days ago, and Zach's upcoming finals, and college applications, and a whole bunch of other things that didn't really matter. What mattered was that there no longer was radio silence between them. Claire considered it a major step forward from a few years ago.

"Do you miss it?" Claire asked Owen that night, slipping into bed, her hair tied into a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck.

His smirked at her choice of sleepwear – his old shirt she claimed as her own when they first started living together, the one he suspected she'd burned the moment he moved out – and lifted his arm for her to scooch closer.

"What?" He asked.

"Living in the wild, away from–" a siren blared outside as an ambulance zipped by their apartment building, fading in the distance. "From this, for one thing."

"Sometimes," he admitted. She smelled like soap and lemons and Claire, and his lips curved on the will of their own. "But I think I'm having it pretty good here, if that's what you're asking."

She poked him in the ribs with a snort, and he pecked her quickly on the lips.

"Hey, I was meaning to ask…"

"Yeah?" He turned off the lights, setting more comfortably into the pillows, his hand running absently over Claire's hair.

"Zach's graduation is next month. I mean, you don't have to go. My family can be overwhelming, but I know he'd like you to come. In fact, he sort of asked if you would, but I didn't give him any promises, of course. There's a matter of your work and–" she knew she was babbling and it probably sounded ridiculous, but it was hard to stop, especially when she didn't know where she was going with it.

"Claire," he interjected softly just as she started a second round of 'You don't have to'. "I'd be happy to. Honestly."

And that was that. No further questions asked. She bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to reassure him that it really was fine to say no, but it was growing into a very exasperating habit, and maybe it was time to kick it and simply accept Owen's words for what they were.

"What are you gonna get him?" He asked sleepily, wrapping his whole body around hers.

Claire's ears perked up. "I should get him something?"

He chuckled softly into her hair. "Cool Aunt Claire… we'll work on that."

In the end, she got an iPad and an iTunes gift card for Zach and Owen picked up honest to god telescope for Gray, which she knew Karen probably wouldn't approve, and which she knew would leave the boy utterly ecstatic.

The crowd assembled at the football field – a mixture of nervous students and weepy parents – made her anxious, her palms starting to sweat when they were all steered toward the plastic chairs in front of a podium and she found herself squeezed between Owen and Gray who was talking so fast it made her dizzy. How on earth he wasn't running out of air was beyond Claire.

But then Owen took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, as the chatter died down around them when the principal started speaking, and eventually her breathing slowed and evened out. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. It had been a while since she saw him in a suit and a tie, and even though he looked more uncomfortable than not, she had to admit that casual sophistication looked good on him. Claire's lips tugged up at the corners, the noise in her ears finally receding to a level that allowed her to make out what the current speaker was saying.

Afterwards, they went for a celebratory pizza before Zach took off for a party at a friend's house and Gray insisted he needed to put the telescope together.

"Not a word," Claire warned Karen quietly when her sister dragged her into the kitchen to get some wine while Gray argued with Owen over which part should connect to what in the living room.

Karen huffed. "I just wanted to thank you for the presents. And for coming over."

Claire glanced quickly over her shoulder. "Well, you know…" She tucked her hair behind her ears and rolled her eyes at Karen's knowing smile. "Nothing was falling apart for once, and Owen wanted to mess around with stuff."

"So, what now?" Karen handed her a glass.

Claire shrugged, thinking about her job that felt like not only did she take a step down the career ladder but tumble down it headfirst, and not caring one bit about it. About Owen's part-time employment at the local zoo, and not having any plans beyond next weekend when he wanted to go see a game and she agreed to tag along even though she knew next to nothing about baseball. About all the dreams and plans she used to put above everything and everyone else that turned out being entirely pointless.

A couple of weeks ago she started to realize that the surest thing she had to look forward to was Owen – everything else seemed smudged and unclear. And oddly, it felt both scary and comforting.

"I have no idea," she admitted.

Her sister arched her eyebrows, watching Claire over the rim of her glass. "And that's good enough?"

A small smile crossed Claire's face. "It really is."

—

They watch the reopening ceremony on the TV a few months later – a bright crowd in front of a current CEO of Masrani Global. Behind them, the park looked nothing like the Claire's memories of it, and it was unnerving on more levels than she was willing to admit. She felt both resentful about having the project she'd spent a decade working on taken away from her and turned into something else, and relieved that its future was not her concern anymore.

The public reaction to the reopening was mixed – the people affected by the I-Rex disaster were outraged while everyone else was ecstatic at the idea of seeing the dinosaurs again. Claire tried to stay away from it as best she could. Owen was right, however. Back when they first announced the second launch of the park, he told her that there would always be someone who would pay to go back to Isla Nublar as well as someone who would fund the 'dinosaur production'. She hated to admit that he was right. Not that she didn't know it, too. She was, after all, the person who managed to sell the place to more investors than she could count.

Owen's expression hardened, his fingers curling around hers, when the guy on the screen said that the raptors would be added to the list of the park's attractions and for a moment the image of Blue, newly captured, flashed in front of them.

Claire grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, and beside her, Owen let out the breath he was holding. He could be there, she knew it. The company offered him a very attractive package in exchange for training a new batch of raptors. He all but shoved it up their asses, literally, and then walked out, slamming the door behind him. That was the last time he ever talked about it.

"You okay?" She asked, running her thumb over the back of his hand.

He exhaled slowly and shook his head. It had been two years now, but she knew it still hurt. Then he turned to her. "Yeah. I think I am."

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder and sighed. "There's nothing we can do."

"I know." He lifted her face up, his eyes scanning her expression, the right corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly. Then he brushed a light kiss to her lips and pulled her closer, staying like that for a while – until the park-shaped hole in his chest started to close up again.

A while later, he found Claire standing by the kitchen window, watching the raindrops chase one another down the windowpane as the storm raged outside, the thunder making the whole building tremble. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she sank back against him, her hands gripping his wrists, their eyes meeting briefly in the glass when a flash of lightning lit up the room.

It sounded silly and cheesy even in his head, but for a moment there, Owen felt like the rain was trying to wash away everything that went wrong with their lives and start anew. He didn't say any of that out loud though, just pressed a kiss to the top of Claire's head.

A fresh start seemed like a wonderful idea.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, this was the first - and probably the last - time I ever used marriage in my stories. Wow, it was weird.


End file.
